


Advent Writing Challenge

by Whyistheskyblue



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Christmas writing challenge, Gen, Holiday Writing Challenge, Set in the mall au no one asked for, Tells a continuous story
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:00:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8810665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whyistheskyblue/pseuds/Whyistheskyblue
Summary: 25 days of Holiday Prompts, from this  writing challenge. I probably won't get to all of them on time (or write all of them), but let's see how this goes.





	1. December 1

> Day 9: I Work in a Toy Store and you Keep Coming in and Not Buying Anything 

"That barista you keep messing with is here again." Vanessa props her chin on her hand, bent almost in half over the counter. "Is he going to buy anything, or does he just want to fuck up our conversion?"

"There are children in here." Kevin protests idly, leaning against the back wall and trying desperately to play it cool. From his spot behind the register he can see the few families that are floating around the space, the teenagers just here to play games, and the barista who keeps pushing his glasses back up and smudging the chocolate syrup on the side of his nose. The barista frowns at the chocolate smear now on his hand and pops an idle finger in his mouth to clean it.

Kevin swallows.

"Keep it in your pants, Free." Vanessa rolls her eyes and turns to lounge against the counter, fingers tugging at the end of her pony tail. "I know you struggle with the concept, but-" 

"Will you watch the register?" Kevin's moving across the room before Vanessa has time to respond, headed towards the wooden Corridor board. The barista is idly examining the little wooden pieces, setting up a maze across the grid. "It's not played like that." The words rush out of Kevin's mouth before he has a chance to stop them. "That is to say - ah - would you like me to show you how to play?" The brain coach not so subtly checks the name on the other boy's badge and blinks. "Chrystal?" 

"That's a joke." His hand flies to cover the tag. "A coworker made it for me."

"I dunno. I think you'd make a good Chrystal." There's a beat of silence that lasts just long enough for Kevin to regret making the teasing jab at the obviously sore point. The barista fiddles with the wooden pieces again, scowl set firmly over his lips. "But anyways, Corridor is a multi player strategy game. You don't actually set the maze up before hand."

Slipping into the sales pitch is easy. It requires almost no thinking and holds no opportunity for his mouth to get ahead of his brain. Goading not-Chrystal into a match (and then a rematch, and then best three out of five) leaves Kevin grinning as he out maneuvers the other boy.

"That's game." The barista says, moving his marker to Kevin's end. "Two more times and I'll be the Corridor champion." Kevin blinks down at the board, frowning at the wall separating his marker from victory. 

"If I win you have to tell me your name." 

"You're not going to win." The barista raises an eyebrow at Kevin. The shop had emptied out during their games, leaving only Vanessa moving around the small space.

Kevin doesn't win. 

"So do you have, uh, any family you're shopping for today?" The brain coach asks, resetting the pieces. 

"My break is about to be over." Not-Chrystal avoids the question neatly. He pushes his glasses up again, giving Kevin half a smile. "Stop throwing those weird balls in the drinks. Jake is ready to kill you." With that final comment he meanders fro. the store and heads to the Starbucks kiosk across the walkway. Once there a Korean boy who looked nothing like not-Chrystal (but carried himself exactly the same) pointed at his watch, the universal "you're late" sign. 

"He's not cute enough to mess up conversion like this." Vanessa decides, standing a few feet behind Kevin. Kevin spun to say something biting, but Vanessa beat him to it by holding up her hands in a gesture of peace. "What do I know about cute boys? I dated you after all."


	2. December 2

> Day 11: I'm a barista and you keep making weird faces when you drink the "Christmas Cheer in a Cup" coffee I make, so why do you keep ordering it? 

“So can I get - uh - a cinnamon dolce latte with -” Kevin checks the nearly illegible scrawl on the back of one of a Marbles business cards “- two pumps of white mocha, one pump of peppermint, and chocolate whip?” The korean boy who had been scowling at Chris the day before (who Kevin could now tell is the ‘Jake’ who is tired of him throwing braindrops), stares at the screen. 

“Size?” Jake asks after a moment, smile growing thin around the edges. 

“Uh - medium?” 

“Name?” Kevin looks pointedly at the name badge pinned to his t-shirt. “Right, got it. Your total is $6.34.” The brain coach sighs and hands over a sweaty ten dollar bill that Vanessa had fished out of her bra after Kevin had gotten down on bended knee in the back room. Jake sighs at the damp bill before making change and picking up a cup, ignoring the sticker that had printed from the machine and instead opting to write the instructions long hand. “Thanks.” Kevin says weakly, heading to the hand off counter. 

* * *

Christopher squeezes half a bottle of caramel syrup on top of a caramel frappuccino (with extra extra caramel) for Chelsey. Once the girl (with badly dyed black hair and too much eyeliner) claims her diabetes in a cup he sighs and wipes sticky red stuff onto his apron. The next cup, already sitting next to the espresso machine, has a suspicious lack of sticker.  


“Jake?” The shift looks over from the register, halfway through handing someone their change back. “What’s Christmas Cheer in a cup?”  


“Google it, Chrystal.”  


“Does that mean I have permission to use my phone at work?” Jake shrugs in response, probably meaning that if Chris didn’t get caught it wasn’t his problem. The recipe, once the secret menu website finishes loading, looks disgusting. Peppermint with cinnamon with chocolate? Who actually drinks this type of thing?

* * *

“I have a grande Christmas Cheer for Brain Coach?” Christopher calls, scanning the crowd mingling around the hand off point. A few people look at him oddly, but strange names and stranger drinks were commonplace in an area ruled by high school cliques. He had already called out “Primrose Everdeen” three times, “Bueller” twice, and “Trump” once. The “Trump” cup had been claimed by a boy wearing basketball shorts despite the 38 degree weather.  


“Grande Christmas Cheer?” He calls again, checking to make sure there isn’t a drink he needs to be making.  


“That’s me, I think.” Kevin rushes across the walkway, tripping over one of the little tables that the teenagers cluster at on busier days. He smiles warmly up at Chris, hands almost wrapping around the barista’s as he grabs the cup. “So, when are you going to give me a rematch in Corridor?”  


“I think I’m content to sit on my victory.” Christopher watches Kevin’s face as he raises the cup to his lips. The barista knows the exact moment the liquid passes the other boy’s lips from the way his nose scrunches and his lips pucker, pulling back from the drink too quickly.  


“Wow that’s - that’s something else.” The brain coach takes a moment to run his tongue over his teeth, trying to find an area of his mouth not invaded by the taste.  


“Yeah - generally if I’m putting Christmas Cheer in a cup I’m adding something that’s not considered workplace appropriate.” Christopher leans against the bar, resting against his crossed arms. “So is this as bad as that time you tried the Captain Crunch Frappuccino?”  


“That was wonderful and I’ll stick by that until I die.”  


“So, worse?” Christopher raises an eyebrow. Defiantly, Kevin takes another drink and better masks the cringe.  


“Stop flirting with Chrystal and get back to work.” Vanessa’s voice cuts across the general chatter of the mall, making Kevin wince and turn. She’s standing just inside the theft detectors, ponytail swaying as she glares at the pair.  


“That would be my queue to leave.” Kevin turns back to say goodbye, but the barista is gone, pumping caramel syrup into a cup.


	3. December 3

> Day 3: You made me a Christmas playlist but it’s just Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas is you”. I can’t tell if you’re hitting on me or if it’s a joke. 

“So, Chrystal.” Kevin stands awkwardly in front of the register, hands in the pockets of the too large army coat he had found at a thrift store on Atlantic. “I made you a Christmas present.” 

Christopher looks up from his phone, hidden under the counter and away from the prying eyes of any potential customers. There's a smudge of raspberry syrup on his cheek, half under his too large glasses. “Isn't it your day off?” Is the only thing he can think to ask, idly logging into the register as though it gave their chatting some sort of legitimacy. 

“Yeah.” The idea that the barista was in some way tracking his schedule (and hadn't guessed simply because he wasn't in uniform) gives Kevin the burst of confidence he needs to dig the cd out of his pocket. “It's a mix tape. You should listen to it and tell me what you think.” The vulnerable eagerness in Kevin's face has Chris extending his hand without thinking. 

“Thanks.” The word is careful, measured. It slips between the pair as a tentative gesture of camaraderie. There isn't a good place to tuck the jewel case, so Christopher clutches it awkwardly. “I'll listen to it when I get home.” 

“You'll have to tell me what you think!” Kevin’s face brightens as he tucks his hands back into his pockets, hiding the nervous way his fingers twist against one another. 

“Uh - can I order?” A woman with a blonde bob stands behind Kevin, arms crossed. A teenager, ear buds in, types into their phone next to her without looking up. 

“Sorry. I'll see you later.” Kevin has the good grace to blush before hurrying away, making sure to avoid crossing in front of Marbles. 

* * *

The cd is heavy in the front pocket of the barista’s apron, a reminder to be careful and not crush it as he leans against the counters. The day is uneventful. It's too early in the month for the desperate and rude Christmas shoppers, and it's too late for the students with nothing better to do as they wait for the panicked rush of finals. 

Once home and showered and dressed in old pyjamas, Christopher finds he can't listen to the cd. His computer doesn't have a disk drive. 

He leans against the headboard with a sigh, laptop resting on his crossed legs as he glares balefully at the silver disk. It winks back at him, a cheeky reminder of the flash of Kevin's smile from across the walkway. The only person he knows well enough in the building (and who would probably own a CD player) is Leonard, the landlord/super combo who lived in the basement. 

The stairs are empty as he makes his way down, quickly regretting his decision to forego shoes. “Leonard?” He calls through the door when the super fails to answer his knocks. “I know you're in there.” 

“No one's home.” A gruff voice shouts through the door along with the clicks of no fewer than three locks disengaging. The door opens a crack, the chain still in place. Through the space Christopher can see a single too bright eye, shoved forward to glower at the intrusion. “What do you want, kid?” 

“Do you have a cd player?” The single eye narrows in exasperation before the door slams shut and the burglar chain is disengaged. 

* * *

Thirty minutes, a lecture about how ten thirty is too late to come calling, and a cup of tea later; Christopher is settled back into his bed with the ancient walkman perched next to him. He only has one earbud in, the other dangling loosely near his navel. As Mariah Carey finishes the last refrain of the painfully cheesy song, he can't help but wonder if the entire cd was just generic Christmas music Kevin slapped on a disk. 

The next track whirls to life, the opening of “All I Want for Christmas is You” playing again. Christopher frowns and checks the walkman, making sure that it wasn't set to repeat. No such luck. The display informs the barista that this is, in fact, track two. Christopher skips the song, chalking it up to a careless mistake when burning the disk. 

The opening of “All I Want for Christmas is You” plays again. 

Eight tracks later, the cd proves to be composed entirely of the single song. He had even skipped to random intervals, hoping that it was a joke and another song began later. Christopher expects to be annoyed; but fondness flutters in his chest as he sets the walkman aside to be returned in the morning, turns off the lamp, and rolls over.

**Author's Note:**

> As always hit me up on [tumblr](http://www.whyistheskygray.tumblr.com)!


End file.
